


your cheeks are turning red

by rumpledlinen



Category: Best Song Ever - One Direction (Music Video), One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:46:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpledlinen/pseuds/rumpledlinen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He looks hot. It’s the only way he can think to describe himself; he looks like an actual girl, which is strange. He runs his fingers through the wig’s hair, pursing his lips again. </p>
<p>The door creaks open, Liam hesitantly peeking around the edges. “What do you think?”</p>
<p>Zayn smiles at him, turning and crossing his arms with his hip cocked out. “You tell me, then.” </p>
<p>Liam’s eyes open wide, and he walks forward to take Zayn’s arm, spinning him around. “I was right,” he says with finality, and drags his eyes up to meet Zayn’s. “You look much better this way.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	your cheeks are turning red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [witching](https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/gifts).



> mmm, this is basically porn with feelings. sorry about that (really, i'm not sorry at all). also, the timeline is shoddy and nonspecific after the BSE video. :)
> 
> disclaimer: this didn't happen.

It’s not the first time he’s worn make-up like this.

It should make him feel better; at least he knows what it feels like, isn’t surprised by the way the eyeliner feels, heavy and thick against his lashes. It doesn’t, though. It feels similar and not because Liam’s standing in the back of the room, just _watching_ him. Zayn is acutely aware of it. He swallows, hard.

“There,” Lou says, spinning him back around in his chair ( _I’m going to keep you facing me so you don’t freak out when you see what I’m doing, alright, love?_ she’d said, and Zayn had just shrugged because she’s a godsend and he never wants to disagree with her). She puts her hands together, giving a little clap and a smile. “What do you think?”

He turns his head and doesn’t answer for a long moment. He’s in an old t-shirt and shorts, not yet fully in his costume—but he looks decidedly different, much more feminine. His cheekbones look— _god_. “I like it,” he says, slow. He purses his lips.

From the back of the room, Liam gives a cough. Lou and Zayn both ignore it.

Lou claps her hands again, smiling more easily now; she does love when they like what she’s done. “Now onto hair and dress!” she says, grabbing his hand and all but pushing him away. “I really think you’re going to love it, eh?”

“Hey,” Liam says, pulling him aside for a moment. He drags his eyes up and down Zayn’s body in a way that seems both deliberate and accidental. “You look—really good.” He smiles. “Better this way,” he says, mouth softer.

Zayn grins back but shoves at him. “Oi! I look fantastic all the time.”

Liam’s lips part, and he looks (if Zayn can trust his judgment; which, if he’s being honest, he can’t lately) like he’s going to say _of course you do_ —but then he just sucks in a breath and turns and leaves, and Zayn doesn’t know what to do with that.

 

He looks _hot_. It’s the only way he can think to describe himself; he looks like an actual _girl_ , which is strange. He runs his fingers through the wig’s hair, pursing his lips again.

The door creaks open, Liam hesitantly peeking around the edges. “What do you think?”

Zayn smiles at him, turning and crossing his arms with his hip cocked out. “You tell me, then.”

Liam’s eyes open wide, and he walks forward to take Zayn’s arm, spinning him around. “I was right,” he says with finality, and drags his eyes up to meet Zayn’s. “You look much better this way.”

Zayn’s heart is hammering in his chest. He laughs, though, sharp in the space between them, and shoves him away. “Fuck off,” he says, easily.

Liam licks his lips. Zayn closes his eyes and tries not to think about that tongue dragging down his neck, teeth biting him _hard_.

 

“I don’t think I’ve drawn the short straw,” he tells the camera crew who are there. It’s true; he’d much rather be the hot lady than anything else. He can’t deny, though, that Liam with his bright blonde hair and pink headband is doing things to him that he doesn’t understand. (Liam’s gonna drive him fucking insane; he’s got on track pants, for fuck’s sake, and Zayn’s thinking of taking them off and sucking him down and— _fuck_ , he thinks, and makes himself stop right there and breathe.)

 

“Mate, I can’t wait to get out of this,” Niall tells him, patting his fake neck. “It’s bloody hot.”

Zayn smiles, and nods, fluffing out his hair a little bit. “Me, too,” he says slowly but he’s lying; he likes the way Liam keeps staring at him, eyes dark and unmoving. He purses his lips and smirks when he sees Liam shift out of the corner of his eye.

Niall laughs, rolling his eyes. “You’re gonna drive him insane, y’keep doing that.”

Zayn looks at him. “What’re you talking about?”

“Liam,” Niall says, nodding back. “He’s fuckin’ drooling over _Veronica_.” He stands up and slaps Zayn’s ass, walking away with a laugh.

Zayn grits his teeth and keeps his face impassive, even as Liam walks up to him.

“You gonna change?” he asks.

Zayn turns around and raises an eyebrow, almost challenging. “Don’t have to yet,” he says, tilting his head. He rests his hand on his hip, licking over his lower lip (Lou used lip balm that tastes like cherries). “I could wait a bit.”

Liam doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then he takes Zayn’s hand and all but drags him into a single bathroom, pushing him up against the wall. He’s _strong_ , fuck, holding Zayn there with almost no effort. Zayn’s not sure he could get out of he tried.

“Fuck,” Zayn gasps out.

And Liam kisses him.

It’s a hot, wet press of lips together at first; there’s no finesse, only greedy taking. Zayn’s fingers are pressed into Liam’s shoulders hard enough to leave bruises, and Liam’s got one of his knees between Zayn’s legs, rubbing up against him.

“Fuck,” Liam whispers into his ear, “fuck, you’re so hot, wearing a fucking skirt—”

Zayn moans, soft, tilting his head back.

Liam presses a hand over his mouth, raising his eyebrow in a warning. “Careful,” he whispers, “wouldn’t want anyone else to hear, yeah?” He moves his hand, grabbing Zayn’s wrist, and presses it up above his head. His shirt lifts up, buttons straining.

Liam bites his lower lip, and then kisses Zayn again, hard, bracketing him against the wall. “God, you’re hot,” Liam whispers, biting at his neck. Zayn barely holds back his moan. “In your _skirt_ , fuck, and panties—” He lets go of Zayn’s wrist, grabbing his hip instead and pulling him impossibly closer. He’s hard against Zayn’s thigh, and the veins in his arms are bulging against the old shirt he’d come in.

Zayn swallows, and leans up to whisper “I want to blow you,” into Liam’s ear.

Liam goes absolutely silent and absolutely still.

Zayn pulls back. _Shit, shit_. “I didn’t—” he starts.

Liam lets out something like a growl and kisses him, hands pressing insistently on his shoulders.

Zayn goes down easily. His wig gets caught on Liam’s jeans, but he looks up and Liam’s mouth is wide open. He’s fucking _panting_ , hand resting at the edge of Zayn’s cheek.

He unzips the flies slowly, keeping eye contact with Liam, and he leans forward, wrapping his mouth around the tip of his cock.

Liam groans, hand moving to hold onto Zayn’s—Veronica’s? _fuck_ , this is weird—hair.

“Careful,” Zayn murmurs with a smirk and a wink, and then he takes half of him into his mouth.

Liam’s free hand hits the wall with a hard slap. Zayn looks up at him again—it’s difficult but he can see him over the fringe of the wig. His jaw is clenched, eyes wide and staring down at him, something like shock there.

Zayn closes his eyes and continues in earnest, letting out soft sighs whenever he takes a breath.

“Fuck—I’m gonna come,” Liam hisses. Zayn doesn’t move. Liam pulls him off and drags him up, slamming him against the stall door.

“What—” Zayn starts, but Liam kisses him and Zayn’s hand barely grabs his dick and Liam comes, hard, all over Zayn’s skirt and his own jeans.

He falls a little bit against the wall, forehead pressed against it, breathing heavily. Zayn’s hard in his skirt and panties, squirming; he rubs himself once, letting his head fall back against the wall with a muffled thunk.

Liam looks at him, tracing his cheek, and he wraps his fingers in the wig and pulls Zayn in for another kiss. He rubs at him through his skirt and it’s an embarrassingly short time before Zayn’s coming,  hard, with a muffled shout, staining the panties.

Liam looks at him and smudges his finger over Zayn’s lip, fixing the make-up. “I,” he says, and stops. He looks Zayn up and down, biting his lip. “Fuck.”

“We should—get back, yeah?” Zayn says, and breathes out, shaky.

Liam nods. There’s something in his eyes that Zayn doesn’t like, that makes him feel a little bit sad; but he pushes it to the side, wrapping his arm around Liam’s shoulders. He takes the wig off and feels strange without it. Liam’s not going to stare at him anymore, he thinks, and promptly doesn’t think anything else of that nature. He’s not actually a thirteen-year-old with a crush.

(He looks under his lashes to see Liam studying him, his face entirely passive; and Zayn doesn’t know what to do with that, jesus).

He changes back into his street clothes, gets off as much of the make-up as he can in a few moments, and doesn’t comment on Liam standing in the corner, arms crossed, just _staring_ at him while he does it.

“Come on!” he says, smile too wide, and he bumps hips with Liam as they walk out together. Paul and the boys are fucking around in the lobby. Harry catches sight of their general states and gives Zayn a wink, one which Zayn promptly ignores.

 

“You know,” Harry says, that night, “you’d make a wicked hot lady.”

Zayn laughs, shaking his head.

“I’m being serious!” Harry says. He’s a little bit drunk and a lot enthusiastic, eyes wide and hands waving about everywhere. “You’d be that tortured girl, right, who chainsmokes and dyes her hair all sorts of colors and wears button-up blouses with lots of tattoos underneath.” He pauses, and no one answers him. He frowns. “Right?” he insists, waving at Louis.

Lou rolls his eyes, but fondly. “Of course, Haz,” he says, kissing him on the forehead. Harry looks mollified, leaning back against him.

Zayn crosses his arms, smiling, and leans his head against the couch. He hums to himself, just letting the boys’ voices wash over him. He’s calm.

“You would,” Liam says, looking at him.

Zayn frowns. “Hmm?” he asks without opening his eyes.

“Hot. You. Uh,” Liam says.

Zayn raises an eyebrow, chuckling, and squints at him. “Don’t hurt yourself there, mate,” he says, roughly a thousand times more calmly than he feels.

Liam shoves him with his shoulder, turning pink. And that’s the end of it.

 

It would be the end of it, if Liam weren’t so bloody _fit_.

They get back on tour right away, and Liam starts wearing tight t-shirts and making incredibly lewd gestures with his microphone. He smirks all soft and hidden when he goes up to Zayn during one of their Twitter sections, biting his lip and looking him up and down.

It’s not a surprise, then, that Zayn ends up shoved against the wall of his hotel room, being kissed _hard_.

“Bed,” he gets out when he’s so hard he feels like he’s going to explode.

Liam pulls away, and there’s lust all over his face. “Yeah,” he whispers, and swallows; it sounds too loud in the room. “Yeah.”

Zayn takes the control now. He takes Liam’s shirt off and throws it to the side, walking him backwards and pushing him lightly onto the bed. He crawls on top of him, kissing him. He tries to slow it down but Liam pushes up against him, and there are positively _filthy_ noises coming out of his mouth, and Zayn’s no match for it.

“Your shirt,” Liam says, pulling at the hem, and he nearly rips it getting it off of Zayn. His hands are everywhere, tracing over Zayn’s tattoos, and then gripping his biceps hard with a soft moan.

Zayn closes his eyes, collecting himself. When he opens them, Liam is palming himself through his jeans, head tilted back.

Zayn lets out a groan and he kisses his way down Liam’s chest, unbuttoning his jeans. He pulls those off and tosses them to the side, too; and then Liam’s only in boxers and staring down at Zayn with something Zayn can’t decipher in his eyes.

He goes slowly this time, little kitten licks until Liam’s a writhing, panting mess, begging him to _fucking suck me off you fuck_ ; and when Liam comes he swallows, eyes fluttering shut.

Liam pulls him up and kisses him, lazy and soft. Zayn shoves a hand down his pants—he’s so close, just—

Liam bites his neck, hard, whispers _you’re so fucking hot_ , and Zayn comes all over his hand.

Liam smiles at him, soft under his eyelashes, and grabs Zayn’s hand out of his trousers, licking his fingers clean.

Zayn swallows back a strangled sound and kisses him.

They stare at one another for a long moment; and then Liam sits up, running a hand through his hair.

“I guess I’d better go, yeah?” he says, voice soft and emotionless.

Zayn frowns, pressing his lips together. _No_ , he wants to say, and _Sleep here_ and _Please_ , but he doesn’t want to push Liam into anything. Liam’s too nice, would give too much if he thought it was what Zayn wanted.

He doesn’t say anything, and after a long, wordless moment Liam stands, pulling his clothes back on. He leaves without another sound.

Zayn falls back against the bed, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

 

“I think,” Harry says, pointing a fork at him, “you should just tell him your feelings.”

Zayn frowns. “And if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You’re a bloody idiot, if you think that.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything, takes another sip of his coffee with a grimace.

“You’re a brooding bastard,” Harry says, but he gives Zayn’s shoulder a squeeze all the same. “Talk to him, yeah?”

“Mmm,” Zayn says, waving a hand.

 

The first time Liam goes down on him, it’s just after a show and Liam’s grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him backstage into some tiny little room—and he drops to his knees, unzipping Zayn without preamble.

Zayn clenches his fingers—he’s been hard since Liam bit his lip and winked at him back when they were doing _Kiss You_ —and leans his head against the wall, sighing out hard.

Liam’s enthusiastic, nails digging into Zayn’s thigh, and when Zayn comes he tries his hardest to swallow it, not pull off.

Zayn pulls him up and into a kiss. Liam pulls away, ever so slightly.

“Hey,” Zayn murmurs, looking at him, and pulls him closer again.

Liam shudders out a sigh and lets himself be kissed, but pushes Zayn’s hand away every time he tries to touch him.

“Why?” Zayn asks, hisses against his neck.

“Ah,” Liam says, tilting his head, and doesn’t answer.

Zayn doesn’t push; Liam leaves after another moment, rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth like he’s regretting it.

Zayn slumps against the wall.

 

He, Harry, and Louis are sharing a room, this part of the tour. They’re usually good roommates—but Zayn walks in and Harry’s got Lou’s cock in his mouth, and, _well_. Zayn doesn’t want to be here when things inevitably take a turn (they’ve wanted each other since day one, he’s sure of it, even if Harry would never admit it).

Zayn leaves the room and closes his eyes, shaking his head.

He knocks at the room next door. “Can I bunk with you?” he asks Niall, little smile at the corners of his mouth, leaning against the wall.

“Sure,” Niall says, opening the door. He’s got a bag of Doritos in his hand, and smiles at him with orange teeth. “Liam’s at the gym, I think, it’s just you and me till he gets back.”

Zayn smiles. “Good,” he says. He sits on the couch, pulling his knees up under him.

“You okay?” Niall asks, tilting the last of the Doritos into his mouth. “You don’t seem right,” he says around a mouthful.

Zayn smiles and shrugs. “’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” Niall says, nodding. He doesn’t push, though, crumpling up the bag and tossing it into the trash. He grins. “Want to play Mario Kart?”

His smile turns real. “Yeah, ‘course,” he says.

Liam walks in when he and Niall are rolling around, fighting (“You’re a fuckin’ cheater!” Niall shouts).

“What’ve I missed?” Liam asks.

“Zayner’s staying here,” Niall says, trying to sit up where Zayn’s got him pinned, “cos Haz and Lou are shaggin’ tonight.”

Zayn looks up at Liam, who’s all deliciously wet from the gym showers, his muscles nearly popping out of his shirt. “Ah,” he says before he can stop himself.

“Don’t tell me you two are shagging, too,” Niall groans without any heat at all.

“Of course not,” Liam says, eyes dark—but he pulls them away from looking at Zayn, a smile on his lips.

Zayn stands up, nodding. “Yeah,” he says. “Course not.”

 

“We,” Niall says, “are going to celebrate our day off in a _spectacular_ fashion.”

Louis looks intrigued, crossing his arms and grinning. “Yeah? How’s that?” he asks, leaning against Harry’s knees.

Niall shakes his head. “Nothin’ to do with the two of you,” he says, and shudders. He grins. “We’re gonna get drunk.”

There’s silence.

Zayn swallows and looks at Liam, who looks _desperate_ to get out. “I don’t think that,” he starts.

Louis cuts him off, the traitor. “Sounds great!” he says, and raises his eyebrow at Harry. “Right?”

“Of course,” Harry says, slow and drawn-out. He’s staring at Louis’ lips and Zayn’s not sure he’s paying attention at all.

“All right,” Liam says, pressing his lips together, “I’ll go but I’m not getting drunk.”

“We’re not _going to a bar_ ,” Niall says, rolling his eyes, “we’ll be mobbed!” He holds up a finger, nodding at each of them, and then runs out of the room.

“I’m not drinking,” Liam says to the room at large.

“Mmm,” Louis says. Zayn looks over at him; he’s got his head rested against Harry’s knee, pressing a soft kiss there.  Harry smiles and runs a hand through Lou’s hair. (It hurts Zayn’s heart, physically _hurts_ , to see the two of them so adorably affectionate.)

Liam looks at Zayn and his mouth falls open, but he closes it quickly. Before Zayn can say anything—and if he’s being honest, he’s not sure what he’d say if given a chance—Niall comes back in with a bag that clinks when he sets it down.

“Gentleman,” he says with a grin and a wink, “let’s get to it, shall we?”

 

“I’ve changed my mind,” Liam says, pressed up against Zayn.

Zayn looks at him with a small smile on his face. He’s pleasantly buzzed and half asleep; Harry and Lou have gone off somewhere, giggling madly and pulling at one another’s clothes, and Niall’s smashed, passed out on the floor beneath them. “What d’you mean?” he asks, slow and soft.

“I think I’ll have a drink,” Liam says, decisive.

Zayn frowns but hands him a bottle of beer. “You’re gonna be the only one, then? Not fun, is it?”

Liam shrugs, taking a small sip and grimacing. “’s just you though, innit? I do something stupid, you’re not going to—I dunno.” He sets it down. “’s stupid. Never mind.”

But Zayn understands; he smiles, soft, and hands the beer back to him. “Of course,” he says, and leans back against the couch, watching Liam.

 

He falls asleep somewhere between a breath and the next, and he wakes up to Liam pressing small kisses to his skin.

He frowns and mumbles, pulling Liam closer. “Shh,” he whispers nonsensically.

“Zayn.”

Zayn opens his eyes a bit, enough to barely see him. “Yeah?”

Liam frowns; Zayn can barely make it out in the darkness but he can see it. “I need to tell you something.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“No.” Liam’s voice is small and sort of sad and Zayn loves him so, so much. (He should be worried about falling in love with his bandmate but he’s not, really; he’s tipsy and sleepy and he’ll worry about it, all of it, tomorrow.)

Zayn looks at him properly, small smile on his face. “What is it, then?”

Liam opens his mouth and shuts it, shaking his head. He looks out the window. He’s beautiful, Zayn thinks, and shoots that thought down immediately; Liam doesn’t need anyone else pining over him. (All right, drunk is as good a time as any to really admit it to himself—he’s pining over Liam fucking Payne.)

“Tell me,” Zayn says, almost but not quite a plea. He sits up a bit, enough to properly look at him.

Liam doesn’t say anything, just stares at him a long moment and then kisses him, hard, knocking him against the soft back of the couch.

Zayn goes easily, kissing back, and Liam settles between his legs. He’s hard already, _god_ , and Zayn lets out a soft sigh, grabbing his hair and pulling him down close.

“Fuck,” Liam whispers, “ _fuck_ , Zayn, I—”

Zayn gets a hand between them and palms him roughly, biting at his neck. “Yeah, babe,” he whispers, hot against Liam’s neck, “yeah.”

Liam pushes against him and it seems like it’s no time at all before he’s coming; Zayn can feel the wetness against his hand, spreading through the jeans Liam never managed to take off.

Liam lies down against Zayn, and murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like _I love you_. Zayn steadfastly ignores it because within moments, he’s asleep.

Zayn’s hard in his trousers but Liam is warm and soft and snuffling into his neck, and he lies there, willing himself to go to sleep as well.

 

Zayn doesn’t mention it.

Liam shuffles around, fussing over all of them (and that’s normal, should be normal, but Zayn can remember the little whines he made, pressed up against him); Niall’s pitching a fit and Harry and Lou are nowhere to be found. Zayn wakes up alone and uncomfortable. Liam’s making breakfast.

He gets up, stepping over Niall’s discarded shirt and trousers, and walks to him, resting his head on his shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist. “Didn’t know you cooked.”

“I make no promises,” Liam says, and smiles at him. It’s a quick thing, but enough to make Zayn wish—well, wish things were different (and wish he hadn’t imagined the _I love you_ because now he can’t stop thinking about it).

Zayn smiles back but Liam’s entire body stiffens and he pulls away, imperceptibly. “I, uh,” he says, pulling away, and Zayn’s nodding before he can stop himself.

“Yeah, of course.” He walks away, out of the room, pacing up and down the hallway for a minute, and— _fuck_ , he needs a smoke.

He goes outside, managing to get himself into a seedy sort of alley, and lets his head hit the concrete, eyes shut.

_Fuck_ , he thinks, and takes a drag.

 

“You know what your problem is?” Lou asks, walking into Zayn’s room.

He blinks, tugging his shirt over his head and crossing his arms. “What’s that, then?”

“You just—you need to talk to Liam, okay?”

“What are you talking about?” Zayn asks, looking at himself in the mirror and adjusting his hair.

Lou rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “Even if Haz hadn’t told me what happened—”

“He was supposed to—”

Lou holds up a finger. “If you say _keep my secret_ I will mock you endlessly. Choose your words wisely, Malik.”

Zayn falls silent.

“Now.” Lou claps and jumps up on Zayn’s bed, crossing his ankles. “I think you and our Liam need to have a proper chat, yeah?”

Zayn shrugs, cracking his neck. “Dunno about that. Think we’ve talked everything out.”

Louis crosses his arms. “Are you really this much of an idiot or are you pretending?”

Zayn frowns at him.

Lou sighs, flopping back dramatically and spreading out his arms and legs. He looks like a deranged starfish. “You need to talk to him. I dunno. Get him proper drunk this time round and—”

“ _No_ ,” Zayn snaps, maybe a little bit fiercer than he intended.

Lou looks up at him but he must see something in Zayn’s eyes, because he doesn’t say anything, just lets his face go all soft and sympathetic.

Zayn really, really doesn’t need this. He grabs his cigarettes and shakes his head. “’m going out for a smoke,” he mumbles. “Lock up behind you.”

Lou doesn’t say anything.

 

“I meant it, you know.”

Zayn almost burns the tips of his fingers. He jumps and turns, squinting against the rain falling softly.

Liam’s hands are in his pockets and he looks damp and inviting and Zayn has possibly never loved anyone this much.

“What d’you mean?” Zayn asks, and takes a drag of the cigarette (and if he hollows his cheeks more than he needs to, well. He’s only human and Liam’s staring at him).

Liam visibly swallows and rubs his arms, frowning up at the rain. “When—that night.”

Zayn stands up straighter. “Did Lou put you up to this? Haz?”

Liam’s face goes all soft and hurt. “What?” he asks, sounding like a little kid.

Zayn closes his eyes, shaking his head. “I—nothing.”

Liam presses his lips together, staring at the ground. “I meant it,” he says again.

Zayn breathes out, shaky. “What did you mean?” he asks, dropping the cigarette and stomping it out with the toe of his shoe.

“I love you,” Liam says, looking up at him. “Alright? I can’t keep fucking you if—if I don’t put that out there.” He shrugs, swallowing.

In the rain, he’s beautiful. (All the time, though, _all the time_ he’s beautiful.)

Zayn opens his arms and Liam walks forward, almost like he’s drunk.

“Say it again,” Zayn says, and runs a hand over Liam’s hair, smiling a little bit.

“I love you,” Liam whispers, barely a sound.

Zayn kisses him, hard. Liam presses him back against the wall and he’s getting soaked and he’ll have to change his clothes before the concert—the concert, _fuck_ —but he can’t care, not when Liam’s kissing him like he’s the only person he’ll ever want to kiss for the rest of his life.

“I love you too,” Zayn breathes out between kisses, because he has to get it out.

Liam’s grin is soft but there, and he pulls Zayn in by the belt loops, kissing him hard and holding him close.

 

That concert is, in Zayn’s opinion, the best they’ve done yet.


End file.
